


Huitlacoche

by justhuman



Category: In Plain Sight
Genre: Dreams, F/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-26
Updated: 2011-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-28 04:32:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justhuman/pseuds/justhuman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Complex relationships sometimes lead to complex subconscious thoughts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Huitlacoche

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lady Sarai (lady_sarai)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_sarai/gifts).



> I was struck with an idea and it led me to places I didn't expect. I'm posting this a the absolute last Yuletide Madness minute - and it no doubt needs some beta attention. Lady Sairai, I hope this cup of tea was something you were interested in.

Mary pushed open her front door and walked in. "Okay, I’m just going to come out and say it. I don't get the kink thing. Why the hell would anyone be tuned on by being locked in a cage with a dog dish?"

Marshall followed her in and closed the door more gently than she had opened it. He didn't have to look at Mary to know that her whole body had stiffened, and she had on a face like she had just drank sour milk or bit into some moldy-

"Well? Aren't you going to say anything?" Mary demanded.

"Huitlacoche." Marshall wasn't sure where he dug that up from. It was surreal, but could work.

"What?" Mary had moved from being confused and possibly frightened by the activities of her current witness into the more ordinary routine of being frustrated with Marshall.

Marshall liked this because there was something inside himself that broke when Mary was scared. The only thing more frustrating than seeing her throwing up her defenses was knowing that he had only limited access through them. "Huitlacoche – it’s a fungus that grows on corn."

"So if I punch you in the arm, is that like hitting a reset button? Will you pop off another useless and irrelevant fact?" She put the bag with takeout lunch on the table and went to the refrigerator.

"As you might conclude, fungus on one's crops is undesirable; however, some consider the huitlacoche, otherwise known as corn scum, a delicacy."

"Of course they do, and they would a bunch of rich people that have bought everything else and are looking for the latest _scum_ to burn their dollars on." She put a jar of pickles between them and sat down.

Never let it be said that Marshall Mann didn't know his partner. He was careful with his words and knew how to use them to get Mary's mind off things. He took the chair across from hers. "It's actually a common and readily available in Mexico, but due to the USDA's tight control over deliberately raising plant diseases, it's scarce in the US and therefore desirable. It's more a foody thing than a strictly rich thing."

"It's a scum thing though, and we certainly saw scum in action at our last stop."

"Not going to let it go, are you?"

"Nope, and don't think missed the part where you didn't answer my question – huitlacoche, was that the best you could do?" Mary asked as she pulled out napkins, paper plates and plastic utensils from the bag.

As he pulled out the side dishes from another bag, Marshall said, "It is about huitlacoche."

"O-kay," Mary said, sighing in pleasure as she took out two large Styrofoam containers and placed them reverently on the table. Then she put a wry smile on her face, which meant that she was interested enough to keep listening. "Tell me how huitlacoche is analogous with bondage."

Taking the lid off the potato salad, Marshall saw another potential path. "Okay, I can do better than huitlacoche. It's about ribs."

Mary slid her rib container close to her body and looked at Marshall suspiciously. "This better not involve my lunch."

"I am not willing to lose body parts in order to make a point. I will not be coming between you and your ribs."

Mary took a loud draw on her slushy straw, while looking directly at him.

"Ribs are not so much like bondage, but instead like sex," Marshall said.

"Oh, keep talking, this I have to hear this," Mary said as she bit down with a certain ferocity on the rib in her hand.

"Let's assume that most of the population likes ribs."

"Beef or pork?"

Marshall didn't even pause from scooping sides. "Both, consider that a top or bottom issue. The point is that virtually everyone loves ribs."

"And the weirdos that don’t like them are the nuns and Dalai Lama of this analogy?"

"Yes, simplistic, but that will work."

"Much like this whole analogy will be," Mary said, taking the plate that Marshall had just loaded with sides and dug in.

Without losing a beat, Marshall started adding sides to the other plate. "So everyone likes ribs to one extent or another. Some people once in a while, some people once a week."

"I'm more like an every other day kind of gal," Mary mumbled around a mouth full of food and Marshall couldn't help but think that she was gorgeous as she indulged in innocent, primal pleasure with her food.

"Then there are people that travel the country tasting every rib they can get their hands on."

"Sluts, which isn't a negative judgment by the way. Do you think I could get a job like that?"

"They wouldn't let you carry a gun."

"Oh," Mary said with a frown. "Deal's off."

Marshall swallowed the first bite of his own lunch. After wiping his mouth, he continued. "There's a rib eater that would get in the car, and drive 900 miles to get ribs from a particular restaurant."

Mary actually paused as she was bringing a rib to her mouth, and gave him the fish eye. "Is Maggies in Omaha 900 miles from here? If so, what exactly are you trying to say about that kind of rib eater?"

"That she knows exactly what she wants and doesn't hesitate to get it."

"And that makes _her_ kinky?" Mary took a vicious bite out of a rib and stared at Marshall as she slowly chewed.

It was a good look; many a witness had cowered under such a look from Mary. Marshall was immune. "The kinky rib eater is the one that decides he needs Maggies' ribs so often that it's impossible to drive there and fuss with getting an inadequate parking space or ever get a rib made by the lunch chef instead of the evening chef. This rib eater, does the research, buys or builds high end smokers, experiments like a drug company in perfecting just the right sauce, because the ribs he really wants, they don't sell."

Mary blinked. "Is this guy single?"

"And now you can see how kink appeals to some people," Marshall concluded and dived into his lunch.

Mary threw back her head. "All right, different strokes, whatever. Marshall, there was a cage, a dog dish, and no dog!"

Marshall shook his head. "This is like a pie – cake conversation, isn't it?"

"There's pie?" Mary leaned a little closer to Marshall.

Marshall held up a bag and then pulled it back from her reaching hand, making a little warning sound. "After you finish your ribs. But this is like the part where you can understand the quest for a perfect pie, and think people are wasting their lives eating cake for dessert. Different strokes, Mary."

"Okay, let's say I accept your analogy, if only so I keep in your good graces long enough to get that pie – what kind of pie is it again?"

Marshall raised an eyebrow and said nothing, choosing to keep his advantage in the pie discussion.

"Fine, don't tell me," she said petulantly. "So if making your own ribs is just an extreme of rib-loving in general, can you please provide me with examples of less extreme behavior associated with cages and dog dishes?"

Marshall realized his mouth was open and promptly shut it, but he couldn't stop the blood from rushing to his face. Mary's face on the other hand, held the countenance of victory. Sometimes he forgot that it took two to play this game, and Mary was a five-star general when it came to feinting and flanking maneuvers.

"Come on, Marshall, tell me." Her voice, was filled with the kind of snotty, self-confidence that just drove him-

Marshall sighed. "Fine. Keep in mind that we're not discussing any situation that is even potentially threatening or violent."

"Yeah, yeah. Come on," she crooked a finger at him, daring him.

He pushed his plate and the pickles of out of the way and leaned across the table, putting his folded arms past the half-way point and deliberately invading Mary's space. "Ever had a lover back you against the wall, lay down on top of you so that you can't move?"

Mary looked like she was going to say something, but faltered for a second. She didn't look away though; Marshall almost never won a staring contest with her. "Okay, that's still a stretch to a cage, but I can see the general direction you're going. Now tell me about the dog dish."

"Okay, that one's a little harder, because I suspect there's a desire for humiliation in there that I don't think either of us gets. I know this one might be stretch, but ever let someone order you dinner? Better yet, order you a drink that you didn't choose." He could tell by the look in her eye that she had either never given up that much control or it hadn't ended well. "Come on, Mary, ever let a lover feed you by hand?"

And she was thinking about it.

"Okay, it's the extreme part and physically unsafe part of my witness being in a cage. Heck, he's in the program to stay out of a cage. What if his partner has a heart attack or something?"

"There were a set of keys within reach of the cage."

"Really?"

"While you were discussing things with your witness, I kind of put on my father's best disapproving glare and polled his partner on the concepts of safe, sane and consensual. He said the keys were in the clipped to the back of the cage."

For the first time since they left the witness's house, Mary relaxed. "You know, sometimes you are magnificent."

Marshall was always embarrassed by that kind of praise, but if he were being honest with himself, he craved that kind of recognition from Mary. It wasn't because praise from Mary on any topic other than pie was exceedingly rare, but because it was from Mary.

It was really rare, the cynic inside him reminded him. "You're just saying that to get pie, aren't you?"

Mary held up a fork and the triangular take away container that was already open. With a smug smile she stuck the fork in, making Marshall shake his head.

Then out of nowhere, there was a forkful of pie in front of his mouth. If he tried to bite it, she'd probably pull it away, but maybe if he was quick… Then Marshall remembered that he was getting his hopes up for something that wouldn't and shouldn't happen. He opened his mouth, so they could end the standoff on Mary's terms.

Marshall found himself eating apple pie. They were treading on a dangerous line, and as much as Marshall was afraid of the risks for himself, he was even more afraid for Mary. "I haven't finished my lunch yet." He glanced away and started sliding back to his own side of the table.

"I didn't say you could move," Mary said.

Marshall froze and looked up at her. Maybe she did have a look that could pin him in place. Then there was a piece of rib meat hanging in front of him, but this time in Mary's fingers. It could still be a plot to sucker him. It wasn't any less dangerous, but Marshall opened his mouth and took what was offered.

"I'm kind of a fatalist when I look ahead. I've been told by people that I bring about the kind of future with my attitude alone," Mary said

Marshall was eating more from her fingers and didn't dare say a word.

"You, on the other hand, can't do anything in the moment because you're always calculating the odds of the future it's going to bring.

The entire scene defined them both. She was sneaking a taste of something she would later deny she was ever interested in, and he was just as bad, guessing how it would all end and not living in the moment. He had spent years working on the former, but in the end, that was up to Mary. Marshall could do something about the latter.

He started picking up a fork, but Mary tapped the back of his hand with one finger. When Marshall looked into her eyes, he saw a different kind of intensity than he had ever seen before.

"Ever been backed against a wall by a lover, Marshall?"

"No." There were a lot more words behind that and for a change, Marshall didn't say them. Mary fed him some more.

"You want to be. Heck, you want to put aside the daily grind and everything you carry on your shoulders and be swept off your feet. I'm kind of the opposite. I want my way all the time, and sometimes I'm tired of having to constantly fight to get it. I like situations where everyone just assumes that I'm right and goes with it."

Those were things that Marshall had never contemplated for fear of having to admit them to himself, but it was past time for thoughtful evaluation. All of Marshall's rational thought was either flowing into Mary or into parts of his body that didn't give a damn about reason. "I know you think I can't, Mary, but I can live in the moment."

She fed him more pie and hadn't taken a bite for herself. It was surely the sign that she was being kind – as kind as Mary ever got – or they were heading for the end of days. Mary ran a finger along his cheek as he swallowed. "I know you sincerely think you can, but you can't, and we shouldn't, but we both want to."

He hated that she was right, and that he knew she was right, but asking him to be the rational one in this moment was killing him a little. "Keep in mind that I appreciate being treated to this side of you that isn't typically directed toward me. And while it is my traditional duty in our relationship is the voice of sanity, I'm finding myself without words."

"That was a lot of words to say, 'speechless,'" Mary said, the bite coming back into her voice.

"You, on the other hand, have the role of viciously cutting through the nonsense." Marshall swallowed hard, because this wasn't nonsense, not at all.

"So you're saying that I should step up and say something outrageous or downright nasty? Fine, but, Marshall-" Mary put a hand on either side of his face. "I don't want to be mean, and I am doing this for both our sakes."

"Understood," Marshall said and nodded. Then his face felt suddenly cold at the loss of her touch, but it was immediately replaced by her face in his as Mary grabbed his shirtfront and pulled him toward her a little more.

"All right, US Marshal Marshall Mann. If you're serious about this living in the moment thing that you claim you can do then go ahead." She sat back in her chair, while pushing him back. "Stand up, take off all your clothes. Hey! And do it slowly, because I want to see what all your boyfriends are talking about."

It was classically Mary, and her delivery was flawless. She'd have convinced anyone, maybe even Stan, but Marshall could see the truth. He was supposed to reply. It could be as simple as, _not in a million year_. And then they would pick up their forks and eat for a couple of minutes. Marshall would excuse himself to the bathroom where he would try to deal with his raging hard on. Mary would cover him like a good partner should. She'd say something about not being too long or she'd eat his pie and whatever was left of his ribs. When he got back the pie would be gone and she'd be working on the ribs. Everything would be normal with the world again.

But maybe for today and today alone, Marshall wanted to live in the moment. Marshall stood up and unbuttoned his cuffs, taking his time and looking directly at Mary.

"Was I not outrageous enough, or do you get off on mean?"

"I'm not sure, but I think it might be a little of both." He began working on the buttons of his shirt from the top down.

Rolling her eyes, she stood up and came around the table. Then Marshall found himself being backed up against the refrigerator. Mary took both sides of his shirt and slowly ran her fingers down the material, never once actually touching him. "You know, Marshall, I've had quite the unexpected education, today, because of you. By the way, I said, slow, but I didn't mean this slow."

She pushed the shirt half-way down his arms, before running her hands over the smooth cotton of his undershirt. While Marshall didn't want to move he wanted to help the process along, He slowly began tugging at his sleeves, trying to free himself from the shirt.

"Down, boy, I kind of like the look on you. How far can you move those arms?"

He thought it was a groan coming out of his chest, but there was something in the sound that was a little desperate, a little uncertain. The way it made Mary's eyes light up threatened to take him over the edge. Maybe Marshall wasn't sure how much he liked this position, but he liked what it was doing for Mary. Dutifully he tried move his arms and they didn't go far.

Mary went straight for his belt buckle.

"Mary, not that I want to distract you, but …"

"But?"

"We're not exactly on duty for the moment, and it would be unfortunate to have to write up a fire arms incident."

"Huh," Mary said as she unclipped his weapon from his belt and took his back up out of his ankle holster. "I didn't think I liked it when you talked, you know, except when we're dealing with annoying people. But that little hitch in your voice, I like that." She placed both of his weapons and both of hers on the table. When she turned back, Marshall could see it in her eyes before she said it.

"Marshall, you are by far the sensible one."

"Not fair to put that job on me all the time."

"It's not like I didn't put something outrageous out there! Next thing I know you're letting me undress you."

"You're doing a lousy job at the moment." Marshall smacked the back of his head against the refrigerator.

"God, you are adorable and hot when your balls are turning blue. Stop it and say something reasonable."

"Fine, uhm…"

"Marshall!" Mary said sharply as she closed the distance between them.

"Hey! Those adorable blue balls of mine make it hard to think." He could feel the heat of her body, which was making it even harder to think of a deal breaker that would somehow erase this conversation. "Okay. Here's the deal. I may be tossing caution to the wind for the moment, but that doesn't mean this is some kind of bizarre one night stand where the parties pretend to forget the next morning."

Mary's face lit up, "Oh, that's good, keep going."

"Since this isn't some one-lunch stand, kiss me."

"Oh, harsh. Don't get me wrong, that was good, really good. But there's a problem," Mary said.

"Which is?"

Mary was kissing him and his brain was misfiring in all directions. His demand was supposed to diffuse and not escalate, but he couldn't think about that because his arms were tangled in his shirt, and he couldn't hold her. What he was thinking about most was that Mary's lips were much softer than he ever imagined.

*

"Marshall, honey, wake up."

He let out a breath and opened his eyes. Abigail was running gentle fingers over his temple. "What is –" He wasn't sure what he was going to ask and decided the better part of valor, was to wait until he got his orientation.

"You were all tangled up in the sheets. Bad dream?" she asked.

"It was, it was work," Marshall said. It was enough of the truth that it came out convincingly, but he saw it for the lie it was.

She kissed him on the forehead. "I know how that goes. Do you want me to make you some hot cocoa?"

"No, no," Marshall sat up and pulled Abigail's back against his chest. "You've got court in the morning. I'll go get some water and shake it off." They fit together like two puzzle pieces. Abigail looked at all of his quirks affectionately. Their levels of wild romanticism were well matched, and still there were matching levels of practicality.

She hummed and snuggled in a little tighter.

In every honest bone in his body, he knew he loved Abigail. He knew there was something beyond the things they had in common, that made them compatible. There was nothing he wanted more than to go back to sleep and wake up, having forgotten all the details of that dream.

*

Mary's alarm clock read three am when she opened her eyes. "This is not happening," she whined to the universe.

"I don't even like Marshall. He's just some know-it-all dork, whose one regret in life is that his job prevents him from going on _Jeopardy_. She laid flat on her back and punched the mattress.

A wet nose poked her arm.

"Oscar, you are not supposed to be up on the furniture, now go away!" For some reason the dog just settled in closer. Mary supposed that it was because she was petting him. "Bad dog."

"No, you are not the bad dog. Marshall is the bad dog. Waking me up in the middle of the night, it's all his fault. You know it's those damn looks he gives me sometimes. Christ, why does he do that? It's not like he hasn't dived into an ocean of corn syrup lately. And since I don't like her, it probably means that she's sticking around. That's my luck, Oscar."

Mary frowned at the dog. "Let's get this straight. As much as he may drive me insane, I need Marshall, but I do not love him – not that love was the way to describe that dream."

Mary felt better for having said it all out loud. "Frickin' 3 am. It's not like I can go back to sleep, you know?" She scratched Oscar's belly. "You go back to sleep after a dream like that and you fall right back into it."

***

"Has anyone seen my stapler?" Marshall asked. He opened and closed another draw than re-scrutinized his desktop. "Or my tape dispenser?" He cast a glance at Mary who was squinting at a case file.

He opened another draw and then walked over to Mary's desk. "Or my bearclaw?

Mary looked up at him and absently picked up a slivered almond from the napkin of crumbs in the middle of her desk. "There aren't any bears anywhere near Albuquerque. Bearclaws must be hard to find."

"It's the pastry kind of bearclaw," Marshall said. "Flaky pastry filled with almond paste – topped with almonds."

"I don't see one of those around here," Mary said.

"What the heck did I do this morning that could possibly lead you to-"

"Not that I'm admitting anything, but you haven't done anything _this morning_.

It was much clearer now how warped Marshall's dream was the previous night. This was Mary getting under his skin. He was about to tell her off or at least search her desk for his stapler, when his cell phone rang.

"Better get that, I'm sure it's more important than whatever it was you were going to say."

Opening up the phone, Marshall just walked away, "Hello, this is Marshall."

He smiled. "I'd love to meet you for lunch. No, I will not be bringing, Mary."

*

"Squish! It's about damn time you answered your phone. … Yeah, whatever, fine. … No, really I'm fine for someone that woke up at 3am and couldn't go back to sleep. That's okay, I spent my morning doing a few of my favorite things."

Mary could see Marshall's body posture relax and a dopey look fill his face. It was Abigail on the phone. Mary rolled her eyes. "Yeah, my routine worked, because all is back to normal in the world. Now, can I talk to you about what I called you about?"


End file.
